


Soliloquy

by Twelvefootmountaintroll



Series: Falling Dreams [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twelvefootmountaintroll/pseuds/Twelvefootmountaintroll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco dreams of summer</p><p>Written to fit my "Falling Dreams" verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soliloquy

Draco trails his fingers down Harry's side, feeling ribs under skin stretched smooth. He thinks that he's touched every inch of Harry's body by now—sometimes he wonders if Harry himself has discovered every nook and cranny like Draco has. A smile ghosts across his face. He can imagine the accusations of arrogance if he were to tell Harry his thoughts.

"What?" Harry asks. The afternoon plays across his eyes, giving them depth and shine. So often his brow is furrowed in anger, sadness, consternation, and hides the truth of his eyes. Now they gleam free. A painter's palette could never hope to hold the tints and shades there arrayed.

"You're very pretty, you know," Draco says.

"Thanks?"

"My parents always had the prettiest girls in England in mind for me, but you will do. I'm sure they won't be too disappointed."

"Always the words you speak are as sweet as Firewhiskey," Harry says with a roll of his eyes, but his lips curl upward.

Draco shifts his head on Harry's chest. The ebb and flow of breath between them is unsynchronized but nevertheless imbued with an asymetrical, organic sort of rhythm and beauty. Neither can imagine being closer, more intimate than when they breathe in together.

Harry's fingers follow the curves Draco's shoulder and triceps, coming to rest at his elbow and cradle it in his palm. His grasp is gentle and unrestricting, so Draco retraces his path. This time he finds Harry's hip. His thumb presses into it, feeling the give of skin and the resistance of bone. He's struck with a desire to mark Harry's hip, to press and press harder until a bruise blooms under his touch. But no matter how much pressure he exerts, he will never mark the bone underneath.

"I could live here," Draco murmurs.

"What, in your own house?" Harry says with a laugh.

"No," Draco says, nuzzling the hollow between Harry's collarbone and his neck. "Right here."

"You'd have to get up at some point."

"I'd rather die," Draco says.

"I thought you were the ambitious one."

"Being with you is enough."

Harry is silent for a moment. Then he rolls over on top of Draco, so that they are lying chest-to-chest. He presses the side of his face against Draco's neck. A rash of gooseflesh betrays the wake of the words Harry doesn't speak. There's something pathetically fragile in the possessive way his hands frame Draco's waist.

Draco curls his legs around Harry's waist, heels pressing into his thighs. A moment of exquisite control flits through him, rising with Harry's arousal and receding to fuel his own. The loss washes through him, causing him to clutch at Harry's back with his hands. He could make Harry his slave with the power he held but for his own desire. A slave cannot enslave. Only the free can afford the illusion that they are not enslaved in turn.

"Please," Draco whispers. His throat catches and Harry pushes into him.

He wakes aching.


End file.
